Creature Feature (Contains some strong language)
by Peeves
Summary: The New DADA teacher lets loose an angry creature in the school. Three girls are kidnapped, and the teachers launch a search party - leaving Professor Trewlawney in charge. Of course, Ron can't let some beastie kidnap his little sister, can he?


Creature Feature

A/N: Yes, the title sucks. Basically, set after Book 4. The first chapter here is just setting it up, Flick won't be as important as she seems right now. Honest!

Steam puffed from the front of the Hogwarts Express on Platform 9 3/4. It was nearly time to set off, the train seemed to be straining to start the journey. Four ginger haired children tore along the platform, luggage dragged mercilessly behind them and two breathless friends calling for them to wait struggling to keep up. 

From the noise the crowd was making, everyone knew they were nearby. The guards chastised them lightly but firmly, and packed them into a near-empty carriage. The train thrust forwards out of the station, steadily gaining speed.

"Neville!" Harry Potter cried after catching his breath on the train. He smiled at the boy he knew from school, "How are you? Still got Trevor?"

The boy nodded almost shyly, and said "He's here somewhere," 

"'Ere, Neville," Ron Weasley, the second youngest amongst the red-heads leaned forward and whispered "Who's she?"

Neville shrugged the reason for his shyness suddenly apparent. A woman was sitting in the far corner from them, staring boredly out of the window.

Everyone looked rather tactlessly at her. She had short reddish-brown hair, cut into various lengths. It looked dyed. She had brown eyes, and she looked skinny and scruffy. Her clothes were baggy, trousers scuffed at the bottom and drooping loosely over large leather boots. She had a T-shirt on that made Ginny Weasley blush - it was tight and black, with "I fucked the girl in Hanson" printed on it in red text. She was covered in jewellery and beaded accessories. 

"Maybe she's the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" suggested Hermione doubtfully.

"Not with that shirt," squeaked Ginny, looking away. The eldest Weasleys - the twins - had remained silent thus far. As a unit, they clambered over the others, and walked straight up to the woman.

"Hello," greeted Fred, folding his arms and scrutinising her. 

"Hiya," she returned amicably, a strong Liverpudlian accent in her voice.

"Are you the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" George interrupted, tired of the pleasantries already.

"Yeah," she grinned crookedly. "I'm Felicity Starsky,"

"I'm George Weasley, and he's Fred. We're not twins, it's just a coincidence," 

"Professor Starsky," began Hermione, but she was interrupted.

"You can call me Flick,"

"Really?" Ron was incredulous. The idea of calling a teacher by her first name, let alone a nickname, was practically unheard of at Hogwarts. You were often reprimanded for not prefixing the name with 'Professor', even.

"Well why not?" demanded Flick. "You've gorra put up with me for the resta the year,"

"Just the year?" Harry, like everyone else, was thinking of the 'curse' upon the position. 

"Well, I dunno. It depends," They chatted idly like that for the remainder of the journey, and when the train pulled in Flick pointed her wand at herself, and the letters magically fell off of her shirt, and climbed into her bag obediently.

Hagrid was hollering for the first years as the group said goodbye to Flick, who jogged over to Hagrid and flashed him a smile.

"Hi, Hagrid?"

"Yeah," Hagrid looked down at her curiously. "Who might you be?"

"I'm Felicity Starsky, I'm the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Hagrid surveyed her quizzically - she didn't look like she could defend herself against a dark closet, but Dumbledore would know what he was doing surely. 

"Alrigh'," Hagrid grinned warmly. "Welcome to 'Ogwarts!"

"Thanks," Flick hopped into the boat, watching the giant squid wave it's tentacles almost like a greeting. 

"Nice specimen," she commented, doggedly dodging a swipe.

"Isn' he?" Hagrid beamed. "I like big creatures, meself. The squid's 'armless really, when ya really get ta know 'im,"

"Well sure he is," Flick peeled another persistent tentacle off of her face. "He's very affectionate... Is there anything else I should know about?"

"Not really," replied Hagrid thoughtfully. "Most dang'rous thing in there is Professor Snape, although actually, Professor Trelawney's got a bat problem in the tower, I'll be seein' to it soon as I got these kids in,"

"Bats?"

The feast, as usual, was fantastic. The faculty table was looking rather bare - Hagrid and Flick were nowhere to be seen. Harry hoped there would be an explanation for this other than 'The boats sank as Hagrid decided the Squid needed company'.

Ginny Weasley was talking rampantly to the new first years, explaining in a holier-than-thou voice about the common room and the passwords. Fred and George were talking to their friend Lee Jordan, while Ron and Hermione speculated how angry Professor Snape would be when he missed the Defence Against the Dark Arts position for a fifth year in a row.

Dumbledore stood up after the feast, and said "I was going to say this before the feast, but it looked like you might have eaten each other. All I have to say is welcome back, and that we have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Her name is Professor Starsky, and at this moment is with Hagrid, chasing bats out of Professor Trelawney's tower." 

Professor Trelawney looked rather pale. 

"As usual, the forest is out of bounds to all pupils, you must not wander the halls after dark. Mr. Filch does not want to be chasing pupils back to bed at night,"

"He catches them and eats them instead!" declared Fred Weasley, a little too loudly.

Giggling spread around the room, if it had been the plague most of the pupils would have dropped dead by now. 

Dumbledore smiled, and his eyes wrinkled. "If he finds you out after dark, Mr Weasley, then he has my full permission to do so!"

The first day of classes was always more chaotic than others. The halls were filled with lost first years, many mumbling about a blond Slytherin boy who had told them that Professor Flitwick's Charms class was in the Forbidden forest. 

Ron, Harry and Hermione had Care of Magical Creatures first, with the Hufflepuffs.

"Please," whimpered Ron to the sky. "Not skrewts!"

"'Ello 'arry!" Hagrid edged around the trio carrying a large wooden crate. "Got somethin' yeh've never 'ad before in 'ere!"

"Yes! Not skrewts!" Ron had difficulty controlling himself. 

Hagrid pretended not to hear him. "Gather around, not too close mind..." 

Soon everyone was in a semi-circle around the crate, a good safe distance away.

"Now then," Hagrid opened the crate, and a hideous screeching sound filled the air. He pulled out a small wire-frame cage, and inside was a small bat. It was crying loudly, with it's eyed screwed shut.

"They hate daylight," explained Hagrid. He quickly put it back in the crate, and replaced the lid. "Remember that, because you'll need to take care of one."

"Excuse me?" Hermione, saucer eyed, could not believe her ears.

"There are enough to assign every fifth year one as a project. You'll 'ave to nurture yer bat and each lesson I'll be checkin' up on em, understand the concept?"

"Yes," Hermione sounded like she might cry.

"They're called Malorien Screeching Bats," said Hagrid helpfully. 

He proceeded to pack each small bat into a black box, lined with shredded parchment, and close it. 

"'Ere ya go 'arry!" Harry was given the first bat. "Yours is a little boy, 'es only a few weeks old so you take good care of 'im. You'll 'ave to find out what he eats, it's part of the project to research your animal, an' if it dies you'll fail the whole term."

A horrified gasp from Neville broke the shocked silence. He wasn't very good in many of his classes, apart from Herbology. 

"Ron, yours is a girl, she's about two months ol'..." 

"Can you believe this?" asked Ron at lunchtime, eyeing his black box. 

"No," shivered Hermione.

"What are you naming yours?" asked Harry, he was still thinking. They had been told to name the bats, and treat them as a beloved pet. Most of the Hufflepuffs had called theirs 'Batty'. 

"Snape," said Ron bitterly as he munched a sandwich for lunch. 

Harry giggled, and said, "I think I'll call mine Snitch. What about you Hermione?"

"I don't want mine, I'll just fail," she said, gulping back water. 

"Imagine how that would look on a report," commented Ron evilly. Hermione looked even more worse for wear, and immediately said; "His name is Sammie!"

"I'll name mine later," decided Ron, as his sister Ginny looked ready to suggest a name akin to the one his poor owl Pigwidgeon had received.

Across the hall, Draco Malfoy was waving his black box around, shouting "Wake up!". The Slytherins had had Care of Magical Creatures after the Gryffindors. 

"That's cruel," whispered Hermione. As much as she disliked the bats, she had kept her box perfectly still all morning and treated it with the utmost care. It was still a living creature inside it. 

She stood up abruptly, and shouted "Accio! Draco's box!" Obediently, the box flew across the room from Draco's hand, and Hermione caught it neatly. 

"Don't be so cruel, Malfoy!" she snapped, listening to the abused bat whimpering inside the box. 

"Give it back, Granger," Malfoy stood up, and raised his wand. Four curses flew at him from the Gryffindor table - one each from Harry, Ron, Fred and George. Draco screamed and dodged them all, hiding pathetically under the table. He stood up gingerly and said "Fine, Granger. You keep it, I don't care."

"Fine! I _will_ keep it!" roared Hermione, sitting down moodily. 

"Well done, Hermione."

After lunch it was Defence Against the Dark Arts, with the Slytherins. Draco sat smugly as others placed their boxes on the desks. 

Flick sat cross-legged on the desk, absently tossing a pair of loaded dice in the air. They kept landing at three and six. She was dressed in casual wear, as she had been on the train, rather than the customary robes. When the class began to find her disinterest unnerving, and quieten down, she spoke to them.

"Alright, my name's Professor Felicity Starsky, but you can all call me Flick, since I'm so fabulous. Someone tell me what you were doing last year?"

"Incurable curses," said Hermione, after Flick had nodded at her raised hand. 

"Great," groaned Flick. "This year you get to learn some crap you'll probably never use about legendary monsters etcetera," 

"Right. Who knows what a Kelpie is?" 

"A what?" Draco sniggered. "It's a big bit of seaweed."

"Close, but utterly wrong."

Hermione raised her hand.

"It's a Scottish creature, and it lives in water," she said, looking at Flick hopefully.

"Precisely," Flick grinned. "Five points to Gryffindor for knowing seemingly pointless information. Now, the kelpie is one of the non-practical lessons, because catching one is impossible. Not to worry though, Hagrid and I have a stash of hideously evil creatures for you to go head to head with. Basically, a kelpie deals with temptation. They'll lure you into their homes, and drown you. Kelpie means 'Water Horse', and you will always be compelled to get on to its back when it shows you its true form, and if you do... you're drowned."

"So basically we're doomed anyway and there's no point to this lesson at all?" Draco intervened.

"Yes," said Flick agreeably. "The only way to escape a Kelpie is to prevent it from tempting you, take down this curse - Consolo Venustas Vulnero. When you use it you must concentrate on something you don't find attractive..."

The lesson on Kelpies ended with a heated class discussion about them, and the class was over before anyone knew it. 

"Tomorrow the lesson's practical, I've got a Jinn we can experiment on," said Flick as they were leaving.

"A what?" Even Hermione was stumped about this one.

After classes were over, the three took their boxes to the library to look up Malorien Screeching Bats. 

"They drink milk until they are five months old," said Harry as he scribbled the note.

"What age is Malfoy's?" wondered Hermione.

"Well, Harry's got a baby, I've got an older one and you've got an even older one than that, we should be able to guess," shrugged Ron.

"After they're weaned, they eat shrubs or insects, and they dislike light of any kind above that of a small candle," Hermione turned the page of the book. "Depending on the nurturing, the bats can grow to the size of a Quaffle or remain just five centimetres long."

"A Quaffle?" repeated Harry. "This box will never hold a Quaffle sized bat."

"It's getting late," sighed Hermione. "We'd better get down to the kitchens and get some milk and vegetables."

Late into the night, when only Filch and Peeves dared roam the corridors, Flick woke with a start. The door to her room was ajar, and a cold draft was blasting across the room.

"Damn," she groaned, and stood up. A Liverpool Football Club strip hung off of her like a tent, one side of it tucked in to a pair of cotton hotpants. Barefoot, she padded out of the door. She knew why it had opened, and knew she ought to have locked it before she went to sleep. 

"Garfield?" she whispered, edging down the stairs. 

The corridors were pitch black, and she cursed herself for not bringing her wand. The stone floor was cold, but she didn't bother about it much as she headed for the dungeons. 

"Shit!" she shrieked as she sank into the trick step at the bottom. From where she was painfully positioned Flick could see Garfield, her pet sheep, watching her with big innocent doe eyes from the end of the corridor. 

"Garfield," she hissed. "Help!" 

"Is it custom to talk to sheep when you're in a bit of bother?" Filch. Creeping around, as usual, he had followed the sound of the swearing to the dungeons.

"Yes," sighed Flick. She, like most others, disliked the caretaker greatly. He seemed to be taking great pleasure in watching her squirm in the trick step, and making no effort to help her out of it either.

"My cat likes a good bit of lamb," said Filch in an almost conversational manner. Flick was sure it was because she was new that he thought he had so much power over her. At this point in time, he was correct in his thinking. 

"Just help me out, will you?" asked Flick, shifting her weight nervously. 

"Just help you out, miss? Is it my job to do whatever any snooty young Professor tells me?" growled Filch, crouching down though still at a safe enough distance.

Flick didn't answer; she was looking instead beyond Filch where Snape had just wandered out of his office. He looked to his right first, and spotted Garfield. 

"What- " he turned around an instantly saw the pair arguing on the stairs. 

"Filch," he spoke smoothly. "I don't know what you two are doing, but kindly leave it out of my dungeons."

Filch jumped a mile, and apologised to Snape before going straight back up the stairs. 

Flick watched him go, then turned to Snape and said weakly "Little help?" 

Snape sneered, but offered her his hand anyway. It took Snape literally picking her up to get the stair to release Flick. 

"My hero!" she pretended to swoon, drawing a glare from Snape. If looks could kill, Flick would have been buried by then. 

"If that is all, I have work to complete," he snapped at her, and whirled around. 

"Oh Snape," gulped Flick, following after him. "I didn't realise you were so serious about this relationship!" She batted her eyelids, feeling stupidly brave.

Snape stopped and glared at her, both quizzically and angrily. 

"There. Is. No. Relationship." he retorted, then continued walking

"Oh, you know you're very sexy when you're being tall, dark and angry," she replied, skipping to catch up with him "And any more flap in those capes, and you could replace Madam Hooch," 

Snape visibly twitched. "Starsky, I advise you right now to be quiet, or else." he growled and quickened his pace.

"Or else what?" she asked, genuinely curious. "Slow down before yer legs fall off, man!"

He stood still on the spot and darkly stared to the ground. He clutched his wand with a clenched fist. 

"Stop. Following. Me." he stated, deadpan. 

"You said I could," pointed out Flick, hopping round in front of him. "Oh, what exactly are the dark arts? I have a class... tomorrow maybe, I should know that crap, right?" She was baiting him.

Snape groaned.

"Yes, you should. The Dark Arts are something every sane wizard only learns to keep away from him, and every INsane one tries to harness." he replied, simply.

"Interesting," said Flick coolly, "Which are you?"

Snape smirked for the first time during the entire encounter. 

"If I were the INsane kind, you wouldn't have been around to ask me what the difference is." 

"Oh, Professor, so you aren't crazy about me after all?"

"No," growled Snape, fixing her with a glare that would have melted gold. "Leave me alone,"

"Wow," Flick was ignoring him again as she wandered into his office. "You've got a huuuuge office,"

"Yes," sighed Snape, following her in. He wondered absently if perhaps a ring of salt would do the trick. 

"What's this?" She was at his cauldron now, eyeing it the way a mischievous child might look at a valuable ornament. 

"Bottled fame," answering questions wasn't as painstaking as engaging in wild conversations with traps set up in them, decided Snape as he humoured her.

"What does it do?"

"The user can aspire to fame, if the potion is nurtured correctly," 

"Ah, plannin' to replace Paul McCartney, are ya?" Flick raised an eyebrow.

"No. It is for a demonstration with the advanced potions class," Snape had had enough. "Go back to your own room now, and take that animal with you. Wherever it is," he added.

"Shit, forgot about him," Flick frowned. "Well, don't dance or anything but I'm gonna go get my sheep,"

"I'll try not to," Snape sneered sarcastically.

"Okay, later hot stuff!" Flick ran, before Snape could turn her into something worthy of Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class. 

"Granger," Draco Malfoy had managed to get Hermione on her own the next day, in the library. Crabbe and Goyle as usual, accompanied him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" hissed Hermione, not looking up from her book.

"I want my bat back, you filthy little mudblood thief."

"Too late, Malfoy," Hermione didn't react to the reference to her muggle parentage. "I gave it to Hagrid, it was hurt badly,"

"You're lying!" spat Draco.

"Whatever you want to believe, Malfoy," shrugged Hermione, turning the page.

"I should get yours then!"

"No way, he knows me now. Harry and Ron can't even get close," Hermione was telling the truth now. "Anyway," she added icily. "You don't deserve to be in charge of another living creature."

"This isn't the end, Granger," growled Draco, and marched out of the library.

Hermione watched him go, pondering the implications of this. Still, she didn't have time to think for long as she noticed the time. She had Potions in ten minutes, if she was late Snape would have kittens. 

When Hermione arrived in Potions, she was surprised to find that it was not Professor Snape who was taking the lesson, but Flick instead. 

She explained quickly that Snape was off replacing some difficult to find ingredients he had spilled the night before, in a fit of rage. 

"Right," she eyed a note on the desk from Snape. It said: 

__

Please don't allow Miss Starsky to take my class. The potion to be made during the first period is Floating Gas. The recipe is on page twelve of "Potions for Advanced Use".

"Right, page twelve, 'Potions for Advanced Use'," said Flick, displaying the ingredients on the board once she had found them in the book. 

Potions was going well, Neville had only spilled the batwings, and only once at that. The class were sorry that Snape would be back for the second half of the double period.

"I've done this wrong," Neville whispered to Hermione. Hers was yellow, with a soft gas bubbling through a tube into a flask with a cork into it. Neville's was purple, with no gas at all. 

"Yes, you have," returned Hermione. "What did you put in it?"

"This," Neville held up a container.

"Oh no, Neville that's poisonous - where did you get it?" Hermione looked around. Snape never left dangerous supplies in the classroom. 

"I borrowed it from Draco..." Hermione shot a disgusted glare at Malfoy's table, where he was giggling and pointing at Neville's potion. 

Neville turned to look as well, and knocked his cauldron with his elbow. The purple gloop lurched towards the floor and the pupils in front of Neville and Hermione.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Flick had been watching with mild amusement, until the stuff had made a break for freedom. Now the cauldron and the potion were floating above the class.

"Professor Starsky," Snape. Perfect timing, as usual. 

"Ah, Professor Snape, I was just demonstrating the true dangers of flying potions," Flick looked at him innocently.

"Out," snarled Snape, glancing around the classroom. Ingredients disorderly, pupils working in groups of four, five and six, not to mention the flying cauldron. It was everything Snape hated about a class. 

"Okay," Flick walked out, and the cauldron clattered to the floor, which began to fizz melodramatically.

The pupils backed away from the mess, as Flick watched idly from the door.

"Don't worry," sighed Snape. "Longbottom cancelled out the poison. It's just cooling down. Clean it up, Longbottom, and you have a detention. See Filch after classes today." 

Everyone in Flick's class had been wondering about the creature she had referred to at the end of the previous lesson. 

"I looked it up in the library today," Hermione was saying as she, Harry, Ron and Neville entered the class.

"And?" asked Ron eagerly.

"And it must be in the restricted section,"

"Wow," Harry said, frowning. "Didn't she say she was bringing one in?"

"Yes, she did," Flick was one again sitting cross-legged on her desk, Garfield the sheep on the chair behind her. When the class was settled, she began.

"I asked you yesterday if you knew what a Jinn was, and none of you did. So I'll need to do this now. It's originally from Arabic lore, and it was created from black, smokeless fire. They can shapeshift, and have the ability to make you fall in love with one. Pesky thing, I've been in love with him six times this week..." The class giggled. "They'll treat you the way you treat them, just like a hippogriff you have to be polite to a Jinn, or you'll suffer terrible tortures. They like to play tricks, and honest to Merlin this one could give Peeves a run for his money,"

Flick went to the back of the classroom, and opened the door to a small store room at the back. The Jinn was inside, it was a transparent apparition of a creature, and it looked like a wisp of flame.

"Hello," Flick smiled. The Jinn nodded politely to her, and kissed her hand. It was clear Flick had been being painstakingly polite to him all week.

"I met him on the Faye Moors," Flick looked at the confused class. "You don't know about those either?" She sighed. "The moors are in a place that doesn't appear on Muggle maps, as far as they are concerned it doesn't exist. They can't even see it; all they see is a nature reserve. Anyway, I was there gaining volunteers," 

Everyone gasped as the Jinn took on the form of a unicorn, and pranced over to Hermione. He bowed to her.

Hermione paused - what was she supposed to do?

She looked at Flick, then smiled and said "Nice to meet you," The Jinn seemed pleased with this response, and turned into a human to kiss Hermione on the cheek. 

"What's the point of this?" Malfoy's voice sounded. The Jinn looked mildly hurt.

"You should know about these creatures, Mr. Malfoy," responded Flick. "If you saw one, and you didn't know how to treat him you could end up in a lot of trouble."

As she spoke, Flick intervened between the Jinn and Malfoy, as it was advancing in a rather unpleasant manner. 

"He's not worth it, ignore him?" Flick doubted that would work, and she was right. Still, she couldn't do much to stop it - if she cursed the Jinn now it would get angry with her, and it was living with her. 

Draco's eyes widened as the Jinn returned to its proper form, a black look darkening its features.

"Shit," muttered Flick, wondering what to do. The Jinn raised its hands to strike at Draco, and Flick only had a few seconds to decide what to do. 

"Put me down!" cried Draco. "Is this your solution to everything?" Draco was hovering above the class, the Jinn was laughing. 

By the time Draco was safely having a tantrum in his seat, there was barely ten minutes of the class left. 

Hermione carefully put her hand up.   
"Excuse me, but where did it go?" she asked politely, glancing around the room again.  
"Where'd what go?" Flick looked too, and noticed the rather prominent lack of the Jinn. "Uh... why don't you lot leave early...?" 

"Wot do yer mean it was gone?" Hagrid paced his hut rapidly.  
"I mean it was gone, Hagrid!" Flick ranted, trying to follow him but his stride was too long, so they ended up meeting in the middle every two seconds. 

"Well where'd it get to?" Hagrid was wringing his hands.  
"I don't know!" The discussion wasn't helping anyone, that much at least was clear. "Look, Hagrid," sighed Flick, "You go and tell Dumbledore that a Jinn is loose in the school -" The look on Hagrid's face stopped her. "Tell him it was my fault! I'll get up to the roof. They like to throw things at people from up there - I better warn Professor Sprout about that..."

"Alrigh', be careful an' le's 'ope he don't make much trouble," Hagrid lumbered out of the hut, holding the door for Flick. "Good luck,"

Flick tried to forget how much trouble she was in and concentrate on finding the creature. That was more important than getting fired in her first week, really.   
As she jogged towards Professor Sprout's Herbology classroom she had a sudden sense of foreboding. Professor Sprout was shouting and brandishing her wand in the air, the class cowering a few metres away.

The green house was little more than a metal frame and it looked like it had been raining glass. 

"Ah," Flick stopped. "A different way, perhaps..." 

Bum bum ba buuum… TO BE CONTINUED? Probably not, I'm a lazy cow.  



End file.
